


MIA

by foxtrot77



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not Really Character Death, Sharing a Bed, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 08:24:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17220374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxtrot77/pseuds/foxtrot77
Summary: Grif doesn't hear about the storm in Hawaii until months after it happens.





	MIA

**Author's Note:**

> Here is a Secret Santa gift for @agent-murica (Tumblr)! Happy holidays, I hope you enjoy!

Grif doesn’t hear about the storm in Hawaii until months after it happens.

News from Earth, when it does come to Blood Gulch, is brief and vague. Most messages tell them to do better, or that Earth hasn’t been glassed. Grif wonders why they bother. They haven’t seen or fought aliens in years. Instead, they’re playing grade school war games with Blue Team.

Today, however, along with the usual, “we’re still here” message is an addendum addressed specifically to a Dexter Grif.

Donut, being Donut, clicks on the addendum.

“Here, I’ll get that for you,” he chirps.

“No, that’s my message ass hole,” Grif snaps, trying to shove Donut out of his chair.

Donut barely budges, and Simmons is already reading over the pink soldier’s shoulder. Grif gives up and waits for Simmons and Donut to read _his_ message before him. Kind of hard to have privacy anyway in this tiny computer room.

Donut’s grin fades as he reads, and Simmons gets this weird look on his face. Grif wants to barge in between them to read the message—but something on their faces tells him he would probably be happier if he never read it. Ignorance is bliss, and all that shit. The army never sends personal messages, unless, well. Unless.

“You have a sister?” Donut asks. Simmons punches Donut in the shoulder, and Donut hisses and cries, “Ow! No need to pound me!”

“Let Grif read it himself, dumbass,” Simmons says.

Grif’s hear feels like it’s trying to jump out of his throat. He swallows.

Using strength Grif didn’t know he had, Simmons practically lifts Donut out of his chair. Donut, massaging his shoulder, doesn’t protest. Grif rolls his eyes and shoves his shaking hands into his hoodie pocket.

“God, you nerds are so fucking dramatic,” he says, plopping down into the chair Donut just vacated.

He starts to read.

At first, only a few words stand out: “storm”, “damage”, “missing”. And a name. Kaikaina Grif. The edges of Grif’s vision darken and soon all he can see, all he can perceive, is the short paragraph on the screen. He reads it three, four, twelve times before it finally sinks in.

Kai is missing.

Presumed dead.

“Huh.” It’s all he can manage.

He isn’t sure what he’s feeling because he can’t feel anything. Not his hands, his feet, his whole body. There are muffled voices to his left and right, but he can’t tell what they’re saying or who they belong to. He isn’t even sure if his teammates are talking. Maybe he’s hearing things, maybe _he’s_ the one babbling.

The only thing he can focus on is the screen in front of him, but even that starts to blur unlit it’s just a bright white square of light with some squiggles on it.

Suddenly, he’s picturing Kai. The last time he saw her, she was fifteen. She was crying and angry. The army was taking him away, but as far as Kai was concerned at the time, it was as much Grif’s fault as it was anyone else’s.

“You better come back, you jerk,” she’d said.

“I will, Kai, promise,” Grif had told her.

Now he might not have anyone to go back to.

Grif has had time to come to terms with everything he’s missed—or at least buried the regret deep down, where all feelings go because feelings suck. Several birthdays, high school graduation, nights pacing, worried, waiting for her to get home from a party. He wonders if she went to business school like she always wanted. He hasn’t heard from her since she was sixteen. She is, or was, who fucking knows, about nineteen or twenty now.

Grif doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting there before he realizes someone is shaking his shoulder and calling his name.

“Hm, what?” Grif snaps out of it, which unfortunately means he has to face Donut and Simmons.

Donut is giving him sad puppy eyes, and Simmons is giving him a look like he thinks Grif might explode any second. It pisses Grif off. Red hot anger boils in his stomach, and he stands up, making Donut and Simmons stumble backwards.

“Jesus, get out of my face,” Grif snaps, crossing his arms. “I’m fine, don’t be little babies about it.”

The outburst is weak, but it has the effect Grif was going for. Donut backs out of the room, eyes red, throwing his hands in the air as he exits. Simmons opens his mouth to say something, snaps it shut, and sighs.

“If you say so, Grif,” Simmons says before following Donut out of the room.

Grif deflates, letting out the breath he’s been holding. He feels like punching something but decides it’s not worth the effort. Sleeping, on the other hand, sounds much better.

What _couldn’t_ be solved with a little sleep?

 

 

As it turns out, sleep is harder to find than a reason for this bullshit Blood Gulch war. Grif tosses and turns for hours, alternating between staring at the walls and the ceiling. He tries sleeping on his stomach. He heard somewhere sleeping on your stomach helps you fall asleep, but he has no idea if this is true. It doesn’t work for him, in any case.

Finally, Grif gives up at trying to sleep and resigns to laying on his side with his back to the room. Staring straight ahead at the dull gray wall, he tries to clear his mind. Tries not to think.

Of course, the more he tries not to think, the more he fucking thinks.

_Presumed dead._

What the fuck does that even mean? Grif wonders. Is she dead or not?

The trouble is, Grif can’t even imagine her alive, because he doesn’t know what she looks like anymore. Kai’s not a kid anymore, but the only image he can conjure in his head is fifteen-year-old Kai, showing off a tiny bat tattoo one of her older friends gave her. Grif hated that tattoo—still does—but the memory makes the corner of his mouth twitch. She was so proud of that fucking thing, even prouder that he hated it.

Something warm burns his cheek, and he wipes at his face. Is he fucking crying? Grif growls, swipes his sleeve across his face, and burrows further beneath his blankets.

There’s a beep and a hiss as the door to the room opens, and a small, nervous cough comes from the doorway. Simmons is back. Grif lays as still as possible, concentrating on breathing slowly.

“I know you’re awake, Grif,” Simmons says. “You aren’t snoring.”

Fuck, he forgot to snore.

Still, even though he’s been made, Grif says nothing. Maybe if he keeps pretending, Simmons will get the hint and leave him the hell alone.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Simmons says.

Grif doesn’t.

“Uh—well, I just wanted to say, that, uh,” Simmons stammers, “I’m sorry.”

Grif rolls his eyes and grits his teeth. He wants to yell at Simmons, ask him why he’s so sorry. It’s not like he’s the one who abandoned his baby sister on an island zillions of miles away.

Without warning, the bed sinks slightly as Simmons sits next to Grif. Grif would normally ask what the hell the kiss ass was playing at, but he doesn’t have the energy. He let’s Simmons sit, waits for him to do his thing so he can go back to staring off into space.

“Look, Grif,” Simmons says, “I’ve obviously never met your sister. I didn’t even know she existed, you know.”

He sounds a little hurt, and Grif almost laughs. Even when he’s consoling someone Simmons manages to be nosy.

“Anyway, I’ve never met her, but if she’s anything like you, she’s still alive,” Simmons goes on. “I mean, if you can survive getting run over by a jeep, I’m sure she can survive a little storm.”

Grif is thankful his head is under his blankets, because the fucking waterworks have started again. He doesn’t want to give Simmons the satisfaction of seeing him cry. Only Grif got to see Grif cry, and even he hated seeing himself cry.

There’s pressure and warmth on his back then as Simmons lays down next to him. Grif melts a little into Simmons, feeling an odd sense of comfort and relief. He feels more anchored, whereas just a few minutes ago he felt ready to disappear.

Maybe he doesn’t completely believe Simmons’s theory. Grif is nowhere near as optimistic as that nerd. But the idea that there’s even a tiny possibility that Kai is still out there gives Grif a small spark of hope. Just because she’s missing, doesn’t mean she’s dead.

“Thanks, Simmons,” Grif mumbles into his pillow. “Us Grifs _are_ pretty hard to get rid of.”

“You don’t have to tell _me_ that,” Simmons retorts.

Grif chuckles, and he feels Simmons shake a little as he laughs too.

Life kind of sucks right now—and it will probably suck in the future—but at least he has someone to make it all a bit more bearable.


End file.
